


Green Tea Panna Cotta with Cookie Crumble and Brûléed Plums

by derevko_child



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Masterchef Junior, jimmy woo is in love with everybody, minor philinda, post Season 3 of Agents of SHIELD, pre-Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), references to eye-gouging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derevko_child/pseuds/derevko_child
Summary: They both smell like they just came out of a coffee shop but Coulson smells like coffee and May smells like tea, and if twenty years ago, someone tells him that one day, he’ll be sitting in between the two of them, eating Chinese takeout for dinner, knees touching, watching tv and bantering like old friends, he’d probably think they’re crazyAgent Jimmy Woo gets a surprise visit from old friends.





	Green Tea Panna Cotta with Cookie Crumble and Brûléed Plums

**Author's Note:**

> The characters aren't mine, blah blah. Mistakes and grammatical errors, though, are all mine.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

The FBI deals with a lot of things. 

Sometimes, it’s a crook who duped a lot of good people from their hard-earned money. Sometimes, it’s a horrible, horrifying crime that crossed state lines. Sometimes, it’s baby-sitting a guy who wants out of a gang that dismembers its members.

All ordinary. All terribly human.

He doesn’t have to deal with science-gone-horribly wrong, or giant lizard monsters, or international terrorists whose idea of world domination is creating goats with super strength.

That’s what makes Federal Agent James Woo’s life relatively easier and simpler as compared to Agent of SHIELD Jimmy Woo.

He still hasn’t figured out how the promotional ladder works in the FBI. There seems to be a lot more ass-kissing and politics, which is understandable considering that the FBI is part of the American government and has a somewhat complicated system of accountability in place. If someone wants to get promoted to a cushier position, they’d need to know the right people who knows the right people and that’s going to be difficult for someone who’s stuck baby-sitting a thumbless guy in Idaho.

It’s not like he’s complaining— thumbless guy in Idaho is actually a sweet guy who made the wrong choices in life. He’s seen the worst people in the worst places back when he was at SHIELD and half of those assignments ended with him gouging out some eyes.

Although come to think of it, those eye-gouging incidents were one of the reasons why he got that promotion from Level 3 to Level 4. It showed consistency, the evaluation said.

But as far as he knows, the FBI measures consistency in a different way. Judging from their handbook, they also might not have any policies in place regarding mutilation as a defensive tactic.

Woo sighs as he enters his apartment, flicking open the lights. He deposits his umbrella by the entry way and locks the door before slipping out of his shoes and putting them in the closet.

There might be other ways to get a promotion without going political, he thinks as he heads towards the bedroom. But that would require some showing off and everyone in the Bureau thinks he was a lowly desk agent back at SHIELD. He doesn’t want—

“It’s either you’re too complacent in this neighborhood or you’re too preoccupied thinking about work. Either way, your apartment security needs upgrading.”

A vase flew in the air and within those precious few seconds, Woo manages to grab an old SHIELD-issued weapon he taped behind a cabinet, aiming it towards the direction of the voice. 

The vase hits something with a thud before crashing on the floor.

“You’re not gonna make me pay for that vase, are you?”

Standing in the middle of his living room is Phil Coulson, wearing a snazzy leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, looking like a mysterious White guy who has a fantastic jawline, with a left hand that seems to be emitting some sort of blue force field.

Woo stares at him for a few seconds before lowering his weapon, “I wouldn’t bother. I got it for a dollar at the flea market.” He says as he looks at his guest curiously—well, it was more like he’s staring at that circular blue light on his hand which he’s sure is supposed to be a shield of some sort.

Oh. _Oh_.

“Is that supposed to be Captain America’s shield?”

Coulson’s face lights up in excitement and starts showing it off as he gets closer, “Fitz built it for me. Figured we should be taking of advantage of a robot hand.”

“Robot… hand?”

“It’s a long story, the gist of which is: my left hand got chopped off a year ago.” 

A year? He has May’s number and sometimes, he sends intel for incidents that are way over the Bureau’s head but he hasn’t realized that it’s been a year since he got any updates from their end.

“It was tempting to get a hook, to be honest, but a robotic one was too good to pass up.” Coulson replies, shrugging like it was no big deal.

That’s another major difference with the FBI. Compared to SHIELD, the feds are practically Luddites. The first time he had to present an op for planning, he had to use a projector connected to a chunky-looking laptop. It wasn’t even a _3D_ projector. 

It was like he time-travelled to the ‘70s.

But of course, his co-workers thought that all the fuss and the bumbling he made was due to nervousness and not because he didn’t know how to switch on the projector.

There’s a quiet, steady hum emanating from the shield and he knows better to ask if it has the same specifications as the real deal because Coulson wouldn’t settle for anything less. However, instead of a star at the center, it’s the SHIELD emblem. 

“Cool, huh?”

Woo looks at him. The grin on Coulson’s face makes him look younger and he suddenly feels like he’s twenty-three again and seeing him for the first time— thirty-two-year-old Coulson may have looked like the generic white guy on TV with the chiseled jaw and the heroic shoulders but when he spoke, all Woo could think about was how sincere and kind he sounded; the next thing he knew, he was thinking about whether it’s appropriate to compliment the team leader’s amazingly blue eyes and compare it to the color of the sky during a sunny, cloudless day.

“You can touch it if you want.”

He blinks, “What?”

“The shield.” Coulson says, “Just be careful around the edges, it can get a little slice-y.”

Woo warily looks at the energy shield and though he’s curious, decides against it. “No, thank you.” He replies, “What are you doing here, anyway and how did you get in?” he asks as he sets down his gun and his briefcase on top of the coffee table.

The shield disappears – he doesn’t know how Coulson did it, is that robot hand neurologically controlled? – and a few seconds later Coulson shows a blinking red light on his left palm. Woo assumes that’s how he disabled his security system.

“My left hand has many talents.”

“Did May say that? I feel like that’s something May would say.”

“No, he came up with that one all by himself.” A voice from behind him drolly answers.

Woo jumps as he turns around, “Jiminy Cricket!” he exclaims and immediately regrets saying anything when he sees Melinda May standing a few feet away from him.

“Jiminy… Cricket?” She repeats, slowly.

Like Coulson, she’s also wearing a leather jacket. It also makes her look mysterious. 

And cool. 

And beautiful.

_So_ beautiful.

He can feel his face going red hot as May stares at him. He always gets tongue-tied around her, especially during a face to face conversation, and most especially when she looks like _that_.

The deafening silence that follows feels like a dark, never-ending chasm. It’s like a terrible itch underneath his foot that he can’t scratch because he’s in the middle of an intense meeting. Or an urge to take off the woolly sweater he mistakenly worn on a hot day but there’s a degree of propriety required, and that degree of propriety is ‘don’t you dare take off your clothes’.

Or, as he calls them, instances where momentary death is a better alternative.

“Did everyone at the FBI fall for that?” Coulson asks in a disbelieving tone, finally shattering the awkward silence.

He turns to look at him, “It’s very effective. They think I was a pencil pusher at SHIELD and never saw action.”

“So, they don’t know you can kill people with a fork—”

“—or you that you can hold your own against radioactive monsters—”

“—or that you were involved in a car chase in the Autobahn and didn’t break a sweat?”

“That was _one_ time, I was inside a robot fighting that monster, and that Autobahn chase – though a highlight of several people’s 2007, me included – involved mind-controlled chimpanzees.” he says and shakes his head, “The FBI assigns me to baby-sitting duties and has given me the most paperwork I’ve ever done in my life. It’s boring, I don’t like it, but now I have time to do the thing I’ve always wanted to do since I was at SHIELD.”

“And that is?”

Woo glances at May, “Volunteer at a youth camp.”

He sees a slight furrow in her brow and he takes it as a minor victory since the only person who can elicit any facial reaction from May is the other guy in the room.

“I doubt you two came here to catch up with my boring life at the FBI.”

“We didn’t—”

“—May and I can multi-task.”

He sighs, “Is it urgent?” he asks and looks at his watch, “I came home early because it’s the season finale of Masterchef Junior.”

“The finale?” Coulson asks, almost with a gasp, “That’s tonight?”

“You watch it too?”

“Yes!”

He can feel May’s judgmental gaze boring through them, but he doesn’t care because now he knows that there’s at least one grown man who also enjoys watching tiny humans cook beautiful dishes which most people won’t even learn how to cook in their lifetime.

There’s another bout of silence. Coulson is looking past him and at that moment, Woo knows that there’s a wordless conversation going on and he’s been briefly forgotten.

A quick glance at his guests’ feet tells him that at least they were polite enough to take off their shoes when they broke in. 

“I’m going to my room to change.” He loudly says, knowing he’ll be largely ignored, before gathering his gun and his bag and retreats to the bedroom.

As he changes out of his suit, he wonders what this visit is about. It’s definitely SHIELD-related. He also wonders if those two had finally spoken about that unspoken thing between them because the matching leather jackets might very well be a badass version of a couple shirt.

Woo wonders if anyone involved in the betting pool is still alive.

He emerges from his room wearing a faded SHIELD Academy shirt and the cleanest sweatpants he can find that isn’t in the laundry.

“Guys….” he starts, intending to ask if they’ve already had dinner, but trails off when he sees several boxes of Chinese takeouts on top of the table. The TV’s on, and the shattered vase has been cleared from the floor.

And that’s another difference from the FBI— efficiency in planning and execution is as natural as breathing to SHIELD agents.

“You have a DVR. Why don’t you record your shows? You can speed through the commercials like any sane person would do.” Coulson asks when he joins them in the living room.

“I need to watch commercials.”

“You watch commercials.” May states as she hands him a takeout box, “Willingly.”

“Yeah.” He replies and looks at them, “Shows on basic tv get their revenue stream from advertisements and since I’m still within the age demographic of 18-55, which advertisers covet, I feel like I should do my part to keep the show on air.”

Befuddlement appears on Coulson’s face. “I… don’t think that’s how it works?”

“I don’t understand how it works either. Maybe I’m just an old man who wants his shows to go on forever.” He states morosely.

The unimpressed look May gives him makes him feel disappointed in himself for making that joke because, one: he’s only a few years younger than them; and two: he only watches one tv show and it’s this.

Okay, that’s a lie. He watches other shows, but he doesn’t feel the need to record any of them. He goes home just in time to watch them—he has the whole work-life balance figured out, thanks to the FBI

Woo feels like he needs to say something to salvage the poor attempt of a joke but the first few chords of the show’s opening theme starts playing and he quickly takes a seat on the couch.

“Both those girls have very good knife skills.” He hears May say a few minutes into the episode recap, sounding like she’s scouting for new recruits.

“You should have seen Zac. His fileting skills are fantastic.” He says, chewing on his dinner.

“He butchered those pig ears last week.” Coulson points out.

They both smell like they just came out of a coffee shop but Coulson smells like coffee and May smells like tea, and if twenty years ago, someone tells him that one day, he’ll be sitting in between the two of them, eating Chinese takeout for dinner, knees touching, watching tv and bantering like old friends, he’d probably think they’re crazy— he was the occasional teammate who was always out of place when the jet goes quiet and everyone’s having a conversation with just a raise of an eyebrow or a wrinkling of the nose. These two were way, way out of his league, and it’s not even in a romantic sense.

Sitting between these two now makes him realize he doesn’t have friends at the FBI.

“So, can anyone tell me why you’re here?” Woo asks during the commercial break, for what seemed to be the fourth time this night, setting down his now-empty box of takeout on the table.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to get a tip.” Coulson starts, “If you follow that tip, it’s going to end with you getting a promotion.”

“Does it involve gouging someone’s eyes out?”

“No.”

“Sounds tempting.”

His favorite insurance commercial comes on, and Woo hums along with the jingle, not at all caring if May’s judging him again for it.

“I love Gordon Ramsey with kids.” He says with a sigh when the episode comes backs on again and the judges are discussing the girls’ progress from the start of the season while said contestants run around the kitchen, “He’s so supportive and nurturing.”

Coulson makes an approving sound and May nods her head and he’s grateful that he’s around people who understands Gordon Ramsey’s appeal aside from being a chef with a British accent.

“Wait, why would you need me promoted?” he asks when the show cuts to another commercial break.

“The FBI is setting up a manhunt for Dr. Pym and his daughter.” Coulson replies and hands over a paper-thin tablet, “A promotion would put you in that team.”

Woo presses his palm on the device and it beeps after a few seconds, identifying his handprint as that of Agent J. Woo’s. The SHIELD insignia materializes and the declassified dossier on a Dr. Henry Pym appears on the screen afterwards.

“He was SHIELD?” he says in surprise as he browses through the file.

“Howard Stark’s contemporary.”

He lets out an impressed whistle. Becoming a billionaire after parting from SHIELD seemed to be the normal route for the scientists. For a split second, he wonders whether he made the correct decision in pursuing the specialist track rather than the science track back in the Academy.

“Dr. Pym invented something that’s going to be very dangerous in the wrong hands. He’s been successful with hiding it close to thirty years, but it was recently used in Berlin.”

There’s been talk that a plea deal’s been reached with two players in that disastrous airport fight in Germany – with the discussion of the plea deal being facilitated by none other than the new King of Wakanda – and rumor has it the deal involves house arrest.

He narrows his eyes, “This is another baby-sitting job, isn’t it?”

“It’s _mostly_ a baby-sitting job.” May corrects.

“I was hoping it would be Barton.”

“Barton will tell everyone about the Autobahn chase because he was there, and he’ll think it’s hilarious.” Coulson points out.

“…I’m glad it’s not Barton, then.”

The episode comes back on and Woo ignores the tablet. Working at the FBI taught him how to prioritize himself over work – he’s learned how to enjoy his lunch, look out the window every once in a while, come home early – because ninety-nine percent of the time, his work doesn’t involve saving the world.

Now he sees the value of enjoying watching tiny humans create an elaborate entrée with the kind of laser-eye focus that he usually sees in specialists disarming a nuclear bomb.

“Does this mean you don’t want the FBI to catch Pym and his daughter?” he asks when the TV starts playing an ad inviting everyone to join a class suit.

“You won’t catch them.” Coulson answers, “You’re going to need sheer dumb luck and the correct alignment of the stars for that to happen”

“Ouch. That doesn’t sound like you’re confident with my abilities, _boss_.”

“Oh, yeah, about that.” Coulson starts, “I’m stepping down as director. SHIELD is once again going to be a legitimate organization.”

“Yay.” May emotionlessly adds.

He glances at May and then looks at Coulson, “Because you’re supposed to be dead?”

“Mostly.” The older man replies. The change in his tone told Woo to stay away from the topic.

“Okay, so what happens if the stars do align and somebody in the team has sheer dumb luck?” he asks instead.

“Contact SHIELD. We’ll handle the rest.”

“May I ask _why_ you don’t want the FBI to get Pym?”

Something shifts in Coulson and this time, he turns his body to look straight at him, “There will be technologies that are capable of doing more harm than good, Woo, and sometimes the simplest solution is making sure they stay in the hands of the people who won’t play god with them.”

Maybe being a SHIELD Director requires the ability to come up with simple yet profound speeches on the fly because as much as Coulson is five steps ahead of people, Woo is sure he doesn’t write speeches with it.

Although to be honest, seeing Masterchef-viewer-Coulson seamlessly switching to Director Coulson took his breath away. Mostly because he thinks it’s hot.

“And that’s the only thing you need me to do? Inform SHIELD when the Pyms are in FBI custody?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds doable.”

“You in?”

“Are you sure there are no eye-gouging involved?”

“May?” Coulson asks and leans forward to look at the woman beside him as Woo glances at her.

She sighs, “Eye-gouging is never an activity expected, only an opportunity taken”

“That’s surprisingly deep.” He lightly remarks.

“Shut up, Woo.” She mutters, “For someone who dislikes eye-gouging, you’ve gouged more eyes than One-Eyed Joe.”

“The late Agent Jones liked the idea of gouging eyes but he wasn’t any good at it.” Wo replies and cringes when he remembers that one incident in Madripoor, “In fact, he was terrible at it.”

His favorite insurance commercial comes on again and he quickly goes quiet, his head snapping forward to look at the tv.

“That’s embarrassing.” May dryly pronounces.

“I love it, okay? I don’t care if the scenarios might be exaggerated.” He says and hums the jingle again, “They’re real to me.”

May doesn’t say anything else but he could feel her give him the stinkiest stink eye she could probably muster.

The episode comes back on again, and they’re now in the final leg of the competition. If there’s one thing that Woo’s learned from the countless cooking competitions he’s watched, it’s that desserts are _difficult_. Epic meltdowns have been had over crème brûlée, baklava, and the chocolate soufflé.

From what he’s seen, it’s more like being a hostage negotiator in the middle of a tense standoff: there’s a guidebook on what to do and what not to do, but in the end, it boils down to training and instinct.

Just like making the perfect dessert.

“Strawberry shortcake’s going to lose.” May quietly declares beside him.

“Just because you like green tea doesn’t mean that the panna cotta’s going to be better.” Coulson replies.

He makes a disagreeing sound, “I’m going with May on this one. Addison’s been a consistent player all throughout.”

“Avery just had some bad luck with her teams.”

“Panna cotta’s gonna win, Phil.”

“Avery’s got spunk.”

“Yeah, but no.”

Unfortunately for Coulson, panna cotta did win. 

May finally cracks a smile when the name of the winner was announced, and Woo pumps his fist in the air in glee while Coulson groans.

“If SHIELD’s going legitimate and you’re stepping down, how can you be sure that the new director will agree with your op about the Pyms?” Woo asks when they begin cleaning their mess off the table.

“Before I answer that question, I have to know if you’re onboard.” Coulson answers, picking up the crumpled paper napkins.

On one hand, it’s a promotion, even if it’s going to end up a baby-sitting job. The FBI will not call for a SHIELD-like manhunt because that requires resources and tech they don’t have. On the other hand, it’s also a demotion waiting to happen— the FBI will lose the Pyms if they manage to catch them. And without SHIELD-like resources or tech, he’s going to depend on tips and sightings and that would mean a lot of goose-chasing in the next coming years.

“Woo?”

He realizes he’s just standing in his living room holding a pair of used, cheap chopsticks.

“I’m in.”

“Great.” Coulson reaches for his pocket and hands him a black flip phone, which Woo automatically takes.

He checks the contacts and finds only one number.

“You’ll have to leave a voice message. When, where, gear confiscated— the basics. Hill should get back to you within the day.”

“Hill, huh?”

“Have I mentioned only _part_ of SHIELD’s going legitimate?”

There’s always been a side of the organization that’s hidden in the shadows, one that’s never allowed to be seen by the public. It’s that part of SHIELD which ensures that the mind-controlled chimpanzees, the lizard monsters and the super strong goats aren’t unleashed to the world— the first line of defense against really crazy shit that leads to mass hysteria, panic, and doomsday cults.

World governments have no idea what SHIELD dealt with on an every day basis, and they’re better off not knowing. They wouldn’t have the budget for it, anyway.

May wordlessly holds out a black garbage bag at him and Coulson and they both dutifully drop their trash in it.

It takes them less than five minutes to clean everything up.

“Well, this was fun.” Woo finally says when the pair’s getting ready to leave. “But could you at least give a heads-up next time? I don’t think I’ll be going back to any flea market soon to replace that vase.”

“Where’s the fun in that, Jiminy Cricket?” May says with a hint of amusement.

Heat rises to his cheek. He never got used to May teasing him and somehow, his reactions seem to have gotten worse now that they’re older.

“I’m swearing off swearing for the youth camp.”

The corner of her lips quirk upwards.

“That’s cute, Woo.”

_Oh no._

It’s a good thing that she turned around to leave the apartment after that because he doesn’t think his face could get any redder that it already is.

He watches her back disappear from view before turning towards Coulson and sees the soft, fond smile that appears on his face whenever he thinks May isn’t looking.

“You still got it bad, boss.” He jokes.

Coulson raises a brow, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Woo shakes his head. It seems like the unspoken thing is still unspoken.

“It was nice catching up, Woo.” Coulson says and extends his right hand, which he takes for a brief shake, “Good luck at the FBI.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for the promotion.”

“You’re going to earn it.” Coulson says encouragingly before heading out.

Woo can’t help but let out a sigh when he hears the door click shut. Tomorrow, SHIELD’s going to make some chaos and he’s going to be right in the middle of it.

Promotion or not, tomorrow is going to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> I took liberties with the RL timeline of S4 of Masterchef Junior. :D
> 
> This fic came out of nowhere and I'm sorry that it's neither a Scott/Hope fic nor Chapter 2 of the Philinda fic that I've been working on for the past nine months lmao. I hope you enjoyed. Comments are <3


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